


Regarding the Rent Boy on Retainer

by BleedingTypewriter



Series: Regarding Twitter (NSFW) [11]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Blow Jobs, Bottom Lance (Voltron), Client Keith, M/M, Millionaire Keith, Power Bottom Lance (Voltron), Praise Kink, Rent Boy Lance, Rick Boy Keith, Rimming, Safe Sane and Consensual, Service Kink, sex worker Lance, unrequited feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:34:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24173689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BleedingTypewriter/pseuds/BleedingTypewriter
Summary: On the top floor of a hotel with a combined guest net worth that must total in the billions, Lance gets eaten out by the client who keeps him on retainer.Part of a series of edited/updated threads from Twitter.
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Series: Regarding Twitter (NSFW) [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1744681
Comments: 13
Kudos: 177





	Regarding the Rent Boy on Retainer

**Author's Note:**

> "Regarding Twitter" is a series of my favourite threads updated, lightly edited, and tagged. All original versions are available on my account [here.](https://twitter.com/BleedingType/status/1199399029395709952) Length and tone varies as Twitter is where I tend to play and explore.

Draped over a chair designed by some Very Important Person Lance has never heard of, sipping champagne that probably cost more than his rent, grinding down lazily onto a gorgeous man’s tongue as he looks out over the waterfront at sundown, Lance can’t help but laugh.

When he’d been requested on retainer—even though the money had been _phenomenal_ and he’d assumed the others at the agency would be _jealous_ —they’d looked at him with such pity.

Only the weird ones call dibs, they’d said.

He’d have a _deal_ , they’d promised.

Lance wouldn’t last a week, they’d bet.

Below him, Keith nudges in closer; brushes his hands up and down Lance’s thighs; licks a stripe upward to swallow his cock once—twice—before moving back down to run circles around his ass. Lance gasps; moans low; runs a hand through that dark hair and laughs again. This time Keith pulls back with an inquisitive hum, and the fact that he only looks a little annoyed speaks volumes about how different he gets when they’re like this.

“I was just thinking,” Lance drawls, all demure and amused the way he knows gets Keith riled up: makes him puff up and peacock when he’s in his sharp business suits and blush into the crook of Lance’s hip when he’s naked and kneeling. If it were a few hours prior—if Keith were still wearing his wealth like a suit that doesn’t fit nearly as well as the ones Lance knows his step-brother forces him into—he might retort with something like, ‘Ha, you? Thinking?’

As it is, he just kisses the dark, bite-littered skin of Lance’s left thigh again and mumbles, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Lance says. He glances back out over the harbourfront. It’s getting dark. Soon their room will be backlit and Lance will be able to tease Keith the way he likes. (“Look at that, I can see right into that office building. I wonder if anyone can see _us_. Some high-powered lawyer or something, watching you get me off, jerking their cock. Or maybe just some office lackey. They’d come so hard, watching a _CEO_ on his knees for me…”)

(Maybe he’ll make Keith come in his expensive suit pants. That’s always fun.)

(Or maybe he’ll stop before Keith’s face gets too red, and kiss him soft to stop himself from murmuring, “Only for me,” the way he wants to.)

He tugs at Keith’s bottom lip with his thumb; watches the flesh spring back over the row of slightly crooked bottom teeth the millionaire _refuses_ to get fixed; adds almost as an afterthought, “Keep eating me out.”

Keith keeps eating him out.

He seals his lips over Lance’s ass and tongues his way _just_ inside, and the escort sinks deeper into the Very Important chair with a sigh. Technically, his coworkers had been right: Keith _does_ have a deal. Lance has never had a client so hell-bent on making him come.

(But then, Lance has been on retainer for weeks— _weeks_ since he’s had another client—so maybe he’s just starting to forget what they were like. Maybe, if he’d fucked them as often as he has Keith, they’d have devolved into the same aching, almost compulsive desire to please.)

(Maybe he’d have been taken aback by them, too. Maybe they’d have had one too many drinks in an adorable bid to loosen up, like Keith had. Maybe they’d have risen to Lance’s bait all through dinner and then thrown him for a loop when they’d kissed him all soft and nervous after.)

(Maybe they’d have gotten Lance naked and breathed, “God, _look_ at you,” and come rutting against the sheets while choking themselves on Lance’s cock _hours_ later. Maybe they wouldn't have stopped even then.)

(Maybe they wouldn't have stopped until they’d been able to make him come: would have deep-throated around him and made a total mess of themselves and seemed to get off just a little more on it.)

(Maybe.)

(Lance has his doubts on that, though.)

Allura had thought Lance was _insane_ to take Keith up on his retainer deal; not in giving up the less steady income, but in giving up his network. ‘What are you going to do when he decides to pick someone else up? You’ll be back at the bottom. _Clientless_ ,’ she’d warned.

It’s not a strictly fair assessment, and he’d told Allura so. He still dances; still escorts sans-happy-ending. The pay is less for those gigs, but it doesn’t breach his retainer with Keith, and it allows him to keep a foot in the game. It's not like he's _owned_.

That’s _also_ not a strictly fair assessment, and Allura’d told him so. The client pool is different; dependent on different skills. He’d be rusty; stiff; too used to pleasing one specific person. “And imagine what he’ll make you _do_ for that amount of money.”

Lance sips his champagne and lets one leg rest on Keith’s shoulder, calf draped along his spine. His client reaches up and takes Lance’s cock in a loose fist, and Lance starts idly thrusting up into the grip and back down against Keith’s face. “He makes me _come_ ,” he’d insisted, “ _That’s_ his deal, ’Lura.”

It hadn’t allayed her fears. “Then he pays for exclusivity to your orgasms. That doesn’t strike you as _somewhat_ concerning?”

Lance had rolled his eyes. “He probably pays for _lots_ of peoples’ orgasms. He takes a special touch—an _expert_. He probably wants to keep the good ones when he finds them. It’s a compliment to my skills, really...”

And he’d waxed poetic until Allura was smiling again; had successfully distracted himself from the messy truth of all that. It’s not in his contract, but Lance knows better than to ask Keith how many pretty boys he has scattered around the city like work-from-home staff. It would be unprofessional.

(So is this, probably: having to work so hard to stop himself from making love to Keith the way he _deserves_ —the way Lance _swears_ he wants, sometimes, before he pushes it away in favour of his usual desperate worship.)

“I was thinking,” he continues belatedly, and grinds down harder so he can feel Keith’s laboured breathing tease alongside his balls. “Some people are born in the wrong decade. I was born in the wrong tax bracket.”

There’s a hint of amusement—a single heavier breath amongst the rest—but Keith’s tongue doesn’t otherwise break tempo. Lance must really be doing it for him today. Usually, the mention of his wealth is enough, even mid-coitus, to distract Keith. It reminds him, Lance thinks, of all the ways he knows how to _have_ money, but not how to _own_ it, and his discomfort is (okay, Lance admits it) endearing.

Tonight, though, Keith seems far enough gone that he finds the reference to Lance’s decadence on his dime amusing. Lance polishes off his champagne (unlike Keith, he knows _exactly_ how to own wealth, _especially_ the kind that isn’t his) and sets the crystal flute carelessly on the floor. Keith tightens his grip around his cock and licks more diligently at his ass. Lance can’t see it, but Keith must be prominently hard in the slacks the escort had insisted his client leave on. He only ever breaks tempo when he starts _really_ getting excited; starts getting hard enough that he _really_ wants Lance to come. 

He wonders if Keith does this with his other boys, too: gets in these moods where he _can’t_ get off without making them want to cry with the force of their orgasm. He almost hopes he does; hopes he’s _still_ special, and Keith isn’t quite _this_ gone on anyone else. (“You’re too smart to be anything but a fool,” Allura likes to tell him, and considering all his ludicrous, dangerous hopes, Lance is inclined to agree, at this moment.)

“Are we gonna fuck tonight?” he asks. Keith swipes his tongue over the puckered skin of Lance’s entrance one more time, then kisses his way up along his hip bone. “Dunno,” he murmurs. “Maybe. Later. Want you to come like this, first.” And he sinks down over Lance’s cock again; switches places with his own hand and lets his fingers wander down to play over the sensitive, cooling skin behind Lance’s balls. 

The escort can feel the warm, textured metal of the ring on Keith’s middle finger. He shivers. Outside, the sun dies in a frantic, sky-wide, technicolor scream. It’s a million-dollar view that probably cost Keith _several_ million. He probably hadn’t even noticed; would probably be _embarrassed_ about it. “Look at me,” Lance orders, breathless. “Keith, fuck, _look at me_.”

Keith looks at him, and it’s devastating. With his mouth full of cock, lips puckered and wet around the dark, firm flesh, tongue working wicked and invisible against the vein underneath, Keith looks up into Lance’s face like _he’s_ the one being paid to be there. ‘Speaking of million-dollar views,’ Lance thinks, and kind of wants to laugh again (but mostly wants to moan, so he does that instead). Fuck, here’s a man who just last week was on the business section cover under a headline fawning over his Reclusive Rich Boy Mystique. And now here’s that same man, looking somehow more powerful with his face between Lance’s legs than he had in the dramatically lit, suit-clad cover photo. “If you want me to come,” Lance murmurs. “Touch yourself for me.”

Hey, maybe Lance has a bit of a _deal_ , too. Maybe this whole thing works because he needs to get Keith off just as much as the millionaire needs to return the favour.

( _Dangerous_ , using their names like that.)

( _The paid help_ needs to get _the Boss Man_ off, is more accurate.)

(More painful, too, but it’s an injury Lance can take.)

(Standard occupational hazard.)

(As standard as this contract between them gets, anyway.)

(...)

( **...** )

As expected, the flush across Keith’s cheeks intensifies and his eyelids lower. The hand he slides down his own torso is hesitant; flustered. Lance can’t see below his shoulders, but the shaky opening of his fly is obvious in his arm’s stuttering muscles. God, Keith wants _so badly_ to please Lance; is _so humiliated_ by his own gratification. The escort groans more unabashed than before and cards his fingers reverently through Keith’s hair. His client hums around him; takes him in to the root as if to make up for his arousal. “That’s it,” Lance praises, and Keith’s arm takes on a more regular, lopsided rhythm: _up_ , down, _up_ , down, _up_ , an emphasis on the upstroke that he hadn’t incorporated until Lance had done it to him their third tryst in. “That’s _good_ , Keith.”

The approval just makes him hollow his cheeks and strategically swallow and massage two fingers in teasing circles over Lance’s hole. “ _Shit_ , that’s good,” Lance babbles, and the speed of Keith’s arm doubles; accompanies itself with a telltale wet noise (he’s _leaking_ , _fuck_.)

“I’m gonna come,” Lance moans, and lets himself get a little self-indulgent: “You want me to come for you, Keith?” His client’s groan vibrates along his cock. “God, _fuck_ , just for you, gonna come _just for you_ …”

Keith beats him to it. He’s been toeing the line, but when he finally slams headfirst into orgasm Keith actively gags on the escort’s dick. He spasms hard, arm tripping over an upstroke and freezing on its way down. He sputters a moan, and _still_ doesn’t stop trying to suck Lance off. He gets sloppy about it; wheezes in a way that’s not, strictly speaking, attractive.

But he comes and comes and _comes_ , probably over the thighs of his trousers in filthy streaks, and gives Lance determined head all the way through it.

What is Lance supposed to do but lose it?

“God, look what you _do_ to me when you–ah- _hah_ -fu–” Lance chokes, and cuts himself off with a gasp, and bows his spine so hard when he pops that Keith’s nose mashes ridiculously against his abs.

For just a second, Lance is coming into his lover’s mouth, drunk on the way they do it for each other in ways no one else does. He’s _unattractive_ about it, squirming and working his tongue in his mouth with moist, garbled noises.

And then he catches up to himself. His tongue flattens out. The noises undulate into something sexier and more calculated. He forces the jerkiness of his hips into a purposeful roll, smooth at the edges, as he forces his millionaire client to swallow everything he has to give, just like he’s paid for.

(It’s still hot; still feels amazing.)

(It is.)

(It _does_.)

(It’s just…)

(...forcing _Keith_ to swallow everything _Lance_ has to give…)

(That had been…)

(...)

( **...** )

Afterward, Lance lets himself hang over the Very Important chair; runs his fingers through Keith’s hair and wonders what ridiculous sum a millionaire pays to get a _mullet_ as a haircut (and tries not to think of it as yet another one of his client’s dumb, unavoidable charms). “Same time on Thursday?” he asks, and tries not to look disappointed (even as he tries to _feel_ it; it’d be a good way to kill the lofty, surely-ill-fated hope in his throat).

The look Keith gives him is unreadable, a little of his aloofness returned in the wake of his orgasm. “Tomorrow,” he answers after a beat Lance doesn’t want to understand. “And again later tonight.”

‘Eager,’ Lance wants to tease, but there’s too much expectation in it. “Hey, big spender,” he says instead, and they both leave at that.

(For now.)

**Author's Note:**

> This AU landed very close to my heart for some reason. I hope to write a follow-up some day, Rent Boy Lance deserves his happy ending with awko taco Rich Boy Keith.


End file.
